


wait no return pls i need to breath

by waywardflower



Series: i'd give you flowers, but i'm too busy choking on my feelings [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Flowers, Gift Giving, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Michael's POV, Pining, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardflower/pseuds/waywardflower
Summary: Michael coughs, and spends time alone in bathrooms, and hides things from Jeremy.Honestly, he'd tell Jeremy if he wasn't too busy choking on his feelings.





	wait no return pls i need to breath

**Author's Note:**

> okay it's technically the same set of events from the first fic, but I like michael so heere you go :)

It’s just two days after New Year’s Eve when it starts.  
  
He’s just finished scribbling out a note:  
  
‘My dear Jeremy,  
I love you, even if you are a furry and cheat at AotD. You are still cooler than a vintage cassette. ;)  
-Michael’  
  
It took him a few tries, actually, since ‘Apocalypse of the Damned’ didn’t fit on the first version, and he accidentally wrote ‘my dead Jeremy’ instead of ‘my dear Jeremy’ on the second one, but finally he’s got it down on the little square of paper, everything he wants to say.  
  
Michael is tucking a his short, blunt (hah) card to Jeremy beneath a shiny green bow, when he gets this tickling sensation at the back of his throat. Setting the gift back down on the kitchen counter, he coughs in the hopes it’ll go away, but the tickling persists. It’s... soft, and feels like it’s creeping up his throat, slimy with mucus or saliva or what ever is building up back there. Just thinking about it makes him feel sick.  
  
Bleagh. It’s definitely coming up now, he can feel it on his tongue. Michael takes a second to grab a paper towel, and spits it out.  
  
What the fuck?  
  
It’s a flower. An iridescent white bloom, sitting innocent and fresh like it didn’t just come out of this throat. He stares at it under the bronzeish kitchen light, and shudders. Yuck. That thing came out of him? Nasty.  
  
Still, he closes the paper towel around it and shoves the flower into a ziplock bag, deciding to look into it later. For now, he’s got a present to deliver, a present that’s now seven days late because Amazon Prime is a bitchass traitor. Whatever. Jeremy won’t care.  
  


* * *

  
It happens again at Jeremy’s house.  
  
Jeremy is trying on the new cardigan Michael just bought him when the tickle rises up in his throat again. Breathing shallowly, he awkwardly excuses himself to the bathroom, staving off the cough. He doesn’t know why, but there’s this weird feeling in his gut that says he’s gotta hide it from Jeremy, so he does. It’s weird, hiding something from his best friend—there’s never really been a reason to, unless it was some surprise or something. And this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you can surprise your best bud with on a whim. But he hides it, and he runs to the bathroom and locks the door before the itch in his throat gets bad enough that he coughs it up on their floor.  
  
This time it’s just one cough and he’s spitting the blossom into the toilet. Actually, he’s spitting several. They all come up one after the other, a slick progression that feels absolutely disgusting and looks worse, now that he’s staring at a toilet. They sit on the surface of the water, glistening with his throat-matter, and if he wasn’t still reeling from the awful sensation of them in his esophagus, he would never have known where they had come from. Michael vomits.  
  
What the fuck, what the fuck, he chants internally.  
  
“Uh, Michael? You okay in there?” Jeremy sounds worried.  
  
“Yeah, dude,” he tries, and yikes, his voice is a little too wrecked for that. “Uh? I think I just threw up. Yeah.”  
  
What the fuck is happening? Did he like, swallow a bag of seeds? Is he being poisoned? His mind is spinning.  
  
“Oh, shit. Do you need someone to drive you home, man?”  
  
Michael shakes his head to clear it. “Uh, I think I can drive. It’s not too bad now that I threw up.”  
  
He flushed the toilet, washes his hands, and opens the door, where Jeremy is waiting to make sure he was actually alright. Something in his face must reassure the other boy, because he just gives Michael’s shoulder a squeeze and walks him out. They part with one more hug (and Michael’s throat starts hurting, when Jeremy’s arms linger a little longer than usual on his waist), and then Michael is driving home, hands shaking and breath fogging, just generally spooked about everything.  
  
At home he googles ‘coughing up flowers’ and learns about Hanahaki disease. Oh. So he’s dying of unrequited love. That’s chill.  
  
His hand hovers over the phone screen, debating over whether or not this is something he can talk to Jeremy about when it hits him.  
  
Not like, a realization or anything. No, he’s not that lucky. Instead, just stomach lurches, hard, and Michael sprints to the bathroom, knowing he’s got four whole seconds before he upchucks all over his carpet.  
  
He barely makes it, throwing the toilet seat cover up just in time to violently expel the contents of his stomach into the bowl.  
  
Whoa. That hurts. His throat burns, and it feels like he just swallowed a rock or something, with how sore the muscles are. His chest, too. What’s going on? Fuck, that really, really hurts. His eyes are stinging, filling with tears he doesn’t even have the energy to wipe away.  
  
Michael peeks over the edge of the bowl and fuck, shouldn’t have done that, should not have done that, because there are streaks of red against the pale white petals in the bowl. Blood. Fuck. He’s bleeding, and there are flowers growing inside of him. Slamming the seat cover down, he flushes the toilet, then slumps against the wall.  
  
Looks like it’s Michael in the bathroom, by himself. Again. He gives a morbid chuckle, but then it hurts and turns into a little cry of pain. He should call Jeremy. Jeremy won’t know what to do, but Jeremy freaking out over things is easier to handle than Michael freaking out over things, and Jeremy makes everything better anyway so maybe if he calls they can start working it out and things will be okay.  
  
His chest aches again. He lifts the lid and spits out a few more flowers.  
  
Fuck, it’s so gross. He hopes it goes away soon.  
  
He doesn’t understand. Michael and Jeremy were finally back to normal, they’d just survived the worst together, why did fate have to take him now? They’ve been so happy, so content and warm and fuck, Michael had defeated the bad guy. Everything is supposed to be safe and fine, so where is their happily ever after?  
  
Oh. This time, it is a realization that hits him. Oh.  
  
It’s like it’s all he can think.  
  
Oh.  
  
He’s in love with Jeremy.  
  
Oh.  
  
Jeremy doesn’t love him back.  
  
Oh.  
  
Michael is going to die because Jeremy doesn’t love him back.  
  
Oh. And with that final, great and terrible Oh, Michael breaks down sobbing.  
  


* * *

  
He keeps it a secret for an entire day after they get back from winter break. Well, sort of. He does a lot of coughing, and vomiting, but nobody sees him throwing up flowers. So it’s okay.  
  
It’s not a huge deal, it doesn’t even happen that often. Just when Jeremy sends him a cute selfie, or reminds him to take his meds, or asks if he’s doing okay, or wears that stupid cardigan Michael jus bought him, or even just fucking smiles.  
  
Okay, so it might be a little bit of a big deal.  
  
But he’s fine! And he insists so, and hides it from everyone until 12:36 PM on the second Tuesday of 2018, which Michael knows because as soon as he spits out that fucking flower onto the table at lunch, he checks the clock so he can mark the time of death of his and Jeremy’s friendship.  
  
Of course, he’s also just been unable to breathe, and under a lot of stress, so maybe he saw the clock wrong. It doesn’t really matter, because once Jeremy utters that final, revolted “what the fuck,” Michael faints.


End file.
